Rorschach's Worst Night Ever
by gigatronthepwn
Summary: Just what the title says. Rorschach has a very, very bad night. Rated for some possibly risque stuff.


_I've only been into _Watchmen _for a short time. I've seen the movie twice and I'm reading the graphic novel now. I've only had it for a couple of days and I'm already almost done; I can see why it's held in such high regard!_

_My favourite character would have to be Rorschach (with The Comedian in second). I love anti-heroes, and Rorschach is as anti-hero as they come. But before I get into writing heavy stuff in a fandom, I like to break the ice with something light and humorous. I now humbly present to you:_

_Rorschach's Worst Night (dramatic pause) EVER_

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Rorschach's Journal, February 14, 1985

Had a bad night. Every night in this rabid city is bad, with rape, murder, and mugging the nightly routine of the human vermin infesting it. But tonight was worse.

Started normally enough. Dark and gloomy, the aura of the underworld rising up, unchallenged, unchecked. No one making proper efforts to contain the thieves and rapists and murderers, except me. No activity tonight, though. Nothing to do. Checked the usual locations for signs of a faint pulse in the cancerous heart of the city. Nothing.

No, never nothing. The filth of these streets never rest. They are always out there in the shadows, inflicting some kind of injury or trauma upon the innocent. Just wasn't looking hard enough. They were out there. Just had to be more observant, more vigilant. Roamed the sidewalks keeping a low profile, knowing they were there, cowering in their scum-filled holes, waiting for me to leave so they could strike again. But I'd be waiting, playing them like a down-trodden instrument.

Then, made a discovery. Walked right into a garbage can. Didn't see it there. Then realized I couldn't see anything. Face has no eyes. Perhaps should cut eye holes into it? No, never compromise. Face keeps me hidden from the sorry excuse for the law that patrols the streets, enforcing some twisted mockery of justice. Besides, cutting face hurts. Self-mutilation stupid.

Stumbled around blindly for a few minutes before finding self in McDonalds, as indicated by the stench of greed and corruption drenched in salty oil and grease. Actually, could have been Burger King, Dairy Queen, any of those major fast food joints. They all have that same gross scent of money covered in boiling fat. Not sure how I got there, but there I was in line. Once I got to the till, dug in coat pockets to find a few dollars in spare change. Got a cheeseburger, asked for added onions. After purchase, left with order and ate. There were no onions on it. Justice is dead.

Wandered around a while longer. Offered love by a few whores. Ignored them. Then one jumped at me in a blind frenzy of lust and greed. Had to beat her off. Don't normally harm women, but she started it. Couldn't run; she got a hold of my face. Other whores joined in, and soon I was fighting off an army of prostitutes. Won the fight due to superior combat skills, but noticed something odd. Whenever I go to deliver a blow, everything inexplicably becomes very slow, and then speeds up ridiculously as I'm landing the attack. Looks kind of cool, but very disorienting. Felt dizzy after brawl, had to rest for a few minutes until vision stopped spinning. Then, with the sin of lust suppressed and headache gone for now, continued on.

Back to nothingness. Where to now? What to do? I wiped a bit of foam away from the frothing mouth of this rabies-infected city by putting down the prostitute hoard. What else could I do? Had I finally terrified the criminals overrunning the streets into submission, scared them into behaving? No, they were just hiding, waiting. Then I tripped again, this time over a bench that was right in front of me. Perhaps should consider improving face. Just a thought to keep at the back of mind. Perhaps should just have a cane. Perhaps could convince Dreiberg to make me some kind of super cane that shoots lasers out of the bottom and has a bludgeoning club on the top? Another thought to keep at back of mind. Then, lost in thought, walked into the wall of a building. Kind of hurt. A regular cane would suffice at this point.

Decided to check up on Veidt. Not sure why. Surely the world's smartest man could find something for me to do. Infiltrated his building and looked around his office. No one there. Then heard a noise; jazz music. Saw a light in the hallway. Followed it at opened the door obscuring both its source and the source of the music. Behind the door, there was Veidt, Dr. Manhattan, and Dreiberg in a bubbling hot tub, loud jazz music filling the air. Wasn't sure, but fairly certain they were nude. Awkward muteness for a moment.

"Rorschach!" exclaimed Dreiberg at last. "What are you doing here?"

"Bored and idle, was just looking for Veidt," I explained. "What's all this?"

"It's only a little get together," replied Veidt. "What did you want to see me for?"

"Just wanted to hear if you had any problems that I could deal with. Nothing to do."

"I see..."

"I'll just be going now..."

"Would you like to join us?"

"No." With that, unable to take any more of this, I fled. Tripped over various furniture and upholstery on the way out.

Had the worst night ever.


End file.
